And Still We Hope
by RandomW07
Summary: In which Norway and Iceland used to be brothers, but nowadays, Norway isn't sure what they are. Sometimes, it takes Iceland asking for advice to seal the gap between the two nations.


**I originally wanted to write something for pride month, but it derailed a bit... so take this instead?**

**A bit of foul language, but not much. **

**There may be a few historical inaccuracies in this, do please don't hesitate to point out any major ones so I can fix them! **

**Also, when I mention "nations", I'm referring to the personifications only. **

* * *

Norway often wonders when Iceland grew so distant. Back when the island was no more than an innocent child, he used to cling to his older brother like glue, crying when Norway left him to deal with disputes in his own lands, shy around anyone else. Norway would tell him bedtime stories to help him get to sleep, epics and folklore that would be passed on for generations, then, when their home became a battlefield, he told him stories to give him hope and wash away his tears. Norway taught Iceland how to read, to write, to ride, to fight, but also how to sew, to take care of the hounds and the horses, to dance. He kept him far away from politics, Iceland was too young to worry about such things, especially considering his status.

Things changed when Norway was forced to leave. Denmark fought on the losing side of the war, resulting in Norway being ceded to Sweden, as though he were nothing more than a thing for the greater powers to squabble over. Denmark resented him for leaving without a fight, resented him even more when he chose independence over crawling back to the declining kingdom. Iceland remained with Denmark for all that time, it's only natural for him to be fed the once great nation's bitterness.

Denmark accepted it eventually. When the Nazis came knocking on his door, it became Norway's turn to resent him, for surrendering so easily, for collaborating with the Third Reich. Norway himself fought amongst the Resistance, and, with help from England and his brothers, was finally liberated.

Iceland was occupied by the Allies, serving as a military base, but otherwise stayed out of the conflict. The brothers barely saw each other.

The Nordics eventually grow close to each other again. They spend Christmas and the New Year together, then reunite for Midsummer's Eve. They discuss business, trade and politics as nations, then chat about their everyday life as people. Norway and Denmark exchange playful banter like in the Viking Days, but as equals this time, which enables Norway to finally say all he used to keep to himself. Sweden still pines after Finland, painfully obvious to everyone around, but the short nation no longer fears him anymore, and tells him face to face he isn't interested in men. Denmark occasionally stares at Norway in a way that causes him to ponder whether the man's childhood crush has developed into something stronger; he hopes not, Norway doesn't share these feelings in the slightest.

Iceland now resembles a teenager, just shy of eighteen in human years. He acts embarrassed by his family's antics, prefers to hang out with nations the same age as him or even teenage humans. He rejects Norway as a brother, although the DNA tests prove him wrong.

Although it hurts, Norway understands his brother's reluctance to welcome him back into his life. In Iceland's mind, Norway abandoned him, left him without a fight and never looked back. He isn't wrong per say, independence was a drug that stripped Norway of his humanity in its quest for freedom, but he's far from right. Letters were sent daily, then weekly, then monthly, never to be answered. Emails and social media messages came next, only to be ignored. Norway eventually gave up on staying in touch with his brother, and now sends the personal notes hidden within official documents.

With a new relatively peaceful era washing over Europe, the Nordics go on holiday together. A seaside resort in Southern Denmark, where clouds cover the sky even though it's August, and it's rained almost every day since their arrival. Still, it's a quiet resort, and there are plenty of things to do, so no one's complaining. Of course, nations can never completely abandon their duties. Politics don't cease when a nation wants a few days off, so they remain available in the case of an emergency, but so far, nothing major has interrupted their stay.

Denmark went to chat with the locals, something he insists on doing wherever they go, be it in his own country or someone else's. He craves socialization, needs it to survive. The others leave him to it, on the sole request he stays out of bar fights. Sweden and Finland left to walk Hanatamago ten minutes ago, accompanied by Sealand and Ladonia, the latter loudly complaining about not being able to stay behind. Now, only Norway and Iceland remain in the small cabin they've rented.

The latter is hunched over his PC screen, scrolling down a website Norway doesn't recognise. Tumblr, maybe, Iceland's been gushing over it for months. Denmark would know, he seems to have an account on every social media website there is. Norway, on the other hand, is growing tired of his book. It's interesting, but he isn't in the mood for it.

"What are you lookin' at?" he puts his book down.

"Just stuff."

Norway sighs. Was he ever this evasive when he was Iceland's age? Then again, he hadn't been given the opportunity to be evasive. Just like the other nations at the time, the world expected him to behave like an adult.

"Porn?"

This usually does the trick. At least, it does when Denmark says it. Sure enough, Iceland's cheeks flush and he protests loudly, shaking his head from side to side and glaring at his brother.

"Of course not! Just, you know, research."

"Research."

"On sexuality," Iceland adds.

Ah, sexuality. The change of mentalities has been a recent one, but one Norway welcomes. He'll always have nightmares about the time Denmark was found to be sleeping with his valet in the sixteen hundreds. No, he's glad the global mindset is starting to shift, although there's still much progress to be done.

Still, despite his approval, he feels oddly distant from the culture that has rapidly made itself known. Perhaps it's because he grew up, lived during a period where liking anyone other than someone of the opposite sex, most often of the same social class as yourself, was frowned upon, but he finds himself not caring about who he likes, what label he should go by, any of that. Dating hasn't interested him for centuries, why should he concern himself with it?

"Oh? And what have you decided?"

Iceland frowns, glances at Norway with an irritated expression on his face, as though he doesn't think his brother capable of understanding the complexities of loving another human being. He may not be entirely wrong, if Norway's being honest. Love, dating, marriage, sex, they seem nice, pleasant ideas, but not once has he thought twice about them.

"It's complicated. I don't feel like talking about it."

He respects that. The two aren't close. They may have been before, but they aren't anymore, it's time for him to accept that and move on.

"Whatever you decide, we'll support it."

Iceland rolls his eyes.

"No kidding. Dan's bi, Sve's gay, why would you old guys suddenly reject me? It's just complicated, you know, that's all."

Norway hums in agreement, not quite understanding, but not willing to argue about it. Should he pick up his book again? The conversation's over. The brothers sits in silence for another ten minutes, before Iceland starts to fidget. His shoulders tense, then relax, his foot taps against the floor repeatedly, a bad habit he picked up from Norway after the plague, and he opens and closes his mouth, swallows, then finally speaks up.

"Norway, can I ask you something?"

"Hm?"

"How did you realise you were, whatever you are?"

Norway stares at him for a few seconds, searching for the right words to say. Because Norway doesn't know what he identifies as, not really. He dislikes society's need for labels, their obsession with knowing who's fucking whom, the sudden love of unicorns and rainbows with a vocal few clamouring for love but preaching hate. If Iceland wants to embrace it, however, he won't challenge him on it. If it brings him joy, then he has no reason to oppose it.

"Never really thought about it," he muses, "not really. Noticed people, dated one or two a long time ago, there's not much to it. Denmark can probably say more about it. Have you asked him?"

"Yeah, he didn't make much sense."

That doesn't surprise Norway too much. Denmark's always been a simple man, although his explanations are far from sensical at times. His solutions tend to be debatable, as well. He's not sure what pearls of wisdom the taller man had to give, but he doubts them relevant in today's society.

"I didn't know you dated," Iceland raises his eyebrows, "I always thought you were ace?"

Norway blinks.

"Ace?"

"Asexual. It's when you're not interested in sex." He frowns. "If you make a joke about plants, I'm leaving."

"There's a term for that now?"

Beore Iceland can protest, he raises a hand, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

"Wasn't a criticism."

Silence settles between the two, peaceful for once, the tension almost non-existent. Iceland clicks on a few links, reads some articles, as Norway peers over his shoulder, leans so his shoulders brush against Iceland's. His body jolts in surprise as an abrupt shower thuds against the roof and windows of the cabin. Well, that means the other Nordics will be rushing back.

"So you don't like to call yourself, whatever you are?"

"Don't see the point really. I'm comfortable with who I am."

"So's Dan, and he's pretty openly bi."

"That's his choice. If it makes him feel like he belongs to a community, or he feels more comfortable usin' it, then that's good. Besides, Denmark dates. People he wants to date probably need to know."

Iceland doesn't understand, Norway can sense it, but he doesn't argue, just nods, clicks on a few more articles. The conversation's over.

"Now I've answered your question, call me big brother," he stretches.

"Oh, bugger off."

But Iceland smiles, and Norway snorts in amusement, and maybe they can be brothers again someday.

"Nor?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

"Didn't say much, but you're welcome."

Iceland shakes his head, closes his PC, and stretches.

"You said enough."

A few days later, Iceland comes out as pansexual, which results in a good excuse for a party, where colourful flags are flown and Norway makes a butter cake, relying on Denmark to make icing for it and help him decorate it in pink, yellow and blue. They drink far too much, which results in a heated debate between Iceland and Denmark over their respective sexualities, only to be broken apart by Finland who desperately wants them all to take shots instead. They wake up the next day with massive hangovers and a desire never to drink again which fades away not even a week later.

When pride arrives next year, Iceland sends Norway photos of him, Hong Kong, Liechtenstein, Seychelles and Taiwan in Reykjavik, all five of them laughing as they wave tiny flags and clearly having the time of their lives. The Norwegian's messages are clogged with memes, music suggestions that aren't all bad, and random facts he doesn't need to see on a regular basis, but Denmark reminds him it's Iceland's way of reaching out, so he starts to respond with photos of the views he comes across during his hikes and trivia about mythological and fantastical creatures in the hope of getting the island to confess he can see them too.

The two start to meet up for coffee in Reykjavik, Oslo, Akureyri, Bergen, even cities outside their respective countries, mostly in Denmark, Sweden or Finland, even the Netherlands on occasion, because the other nations would ask too many questions. One day, when Norway takes Iceland hiking on a new trail he's been meaning to try out, his brother asks him why he never visited after gaining his independence. They talk for hours about it.

"How did you feel when you became independent, Ice?"

Iceland doesn't hesitate. Nations crave independence, it's a drug, that desire to be free from the control of a greater power, to finally make decisions for themselves.

"I felt like I could do anything I wanted, and no one could stop me. That I was almighty, the world was at my feet."

"So did I," Norway admits, "and I never wanted to see Denmark or Sweden again."

Iceland nods.

"That's why you didn't visit? Too many bad memories?"

"I wrote to you."

"It's not the same."

"No, it isn't, is it?" Norway looks up at the sky, blue with no trace of cloud. The two sit in the shade of a tree, just off the trail.

"I should have answered though, shouldn't I?"

"I should have visited you at least once. We both made mistakes. We'll make many more," he shrugs.

"Doesn't that scare you?" the ash-haired teen looks away. "We're nations. We live for centuries, so we keep on making mistakes. We hurt our own people with our decisions, we hurt our family depending on the choices we make, we hurt each other as people."

Norway frowns.

"Stop that. We live for centuries so we can fix the mistakes we make. We ensure our own people can live their short lives in peace, we find a healthy comprise when conflict arises amongst family members, and we help each other as people. The moment you think elsewise, you'll find living for so long unbearable."

He made that mistake centuries ago, under Danish rule, then under Swedish rule. The last time he allowed himself to think that way, he had been sending his royal family off to Great Britain, cursing himself for being too weak to protect the rest of his people. Iceland doesn't need to worry about those things, not now, when they are more at peace than they have ever been.

His brother huffs, voices his disagreement, argues his point a bit more, until the two agree to disagree and they change the subject to the changes in society, those they like, those they dislike. They make fun of Denmark, in the way siblings do, and discuss their nation friends.

"Did Denmark or Sweden ever hit you?"

The question comes out of the blue, and Norway freezes, wonders where Iceland would have heard such a thing. Not from Denmark or Sweden, the three agreed to put the past behind them decades ago, and swore never to bring up their shameful, rage-fuelled actions, of which all three are guilty of. Not from Finland, who must know but will never say. The nation rumour mill has had centuries to perfect, and is still up and running, from the looks of things. If only they'd mind their own business.

"Not on purpose," he says slowly, "most of the time they were busy hitting each other. I tried to break them up sometimes, they didn't necessarily notice in time."

He isn't lying. Denmark and Sweden, his own older brothers, would never hurt him willingly. They were simply pawns in the history of their country, slaves to the policies the government installed, helpless to resist the will of their people. In one word, they are nations. Nations are human only when their nation duties have been fulfilled. Hostilities persist, but as people, the nations have learnt to forgive and forget, in time, depending on the crime committed, on the oath broken.

"Denmark was angry when you left," Iceland says, "he was a good brother, though. I avoided him at first, because he raised his voice at everyone, but he never raised it at me."

"Good."

Denmark isn't and never has been a monster. Selfish, yes, egotistical and naive, even more so, proud, wild, but never a heartless monster. Norway trusts Denmark more than he trusts Sweden, and Sweden is one of the most trustworthy nations he knows.

"What was Sweden like?"

"Sweden was goin' through his own problems. Not my place to share what those problems were, but I think he was glad to see me go. He wanted Finland, but he was given me instead. Why the sudden interest?"

"Just trying to understand things."

Whether Iceland has pieces together the pieces he needs to understand, Norway will never know. Whatever he decides, he at least doesn't hate any of them, and even spends more time with them all individually. He grows less distant.

One day, when they've had too much to drink, although no one more than Finland, who's riding out the waves of euphoria his country winning hockey has generated, Iceland calls Norway big brother. He denies it the next morning, but Norway still smiles the entire day. He also goes back to teasing him about it more than ever.

"Call me big brother."

"Give it a rest!"

"You can always call me big sister."

"You make no sense, I swear!"

Norway quickly learns that his words may not have been entirely understood as a joke when Iceland sends him far too many transgender association pages and support groups following the exchange. Oh well.

One thing that has always troubled the nations is the possibility the general public will become aware of their existence. Before Internet and when globalisation was lesser than today, it was easy to stay hidden from the public eye. With the rise of the Internet and the surge of conspiracy theories floating about, an international organisation set to protect their identities was created, each agent handpicked by their nation themself. For decades, they did their jobs perfectly. Until one day, someone slips up.

The public react as was expected of them. Accusations from both the right and the left, the rich and the poor, the fascists and the communists, the women and the men, those cast aside by society and those who integrate it without issue. Questions regarding controversial or delicate historical events, exactly how involved nations were with authoritarian governments, whether they manipulate the government or are enslaved by them. Adoration from others who invade their privacy as though they're just another group of celebrities.

"If you're the representation of the country of Norway, does the extraction of oil in your seas hurt you physically?"

"Have you participated in the killing and slaughtering of innocents throughout your history?"

"Do you approve of your government's policies?"

"Do you pay tax?"

"Do you vote in the elections?"

Norway ignores every question, isolates himself in secluded parts of his many forests, relying heavily on magic to keep his home hidden from unwanted visitors. Some nations, such as America, embrace the newfound popularity with a friendliness and natural charisma that people stop asking them questions, others make polite - or not-so-polite in Romano's case - statements, asking everyone to fuck off and mind their own business.

Iceland and Norway rarely meet up anymore, conversing only by messenger or phone call. They discuss the problems they now face, how, although their own people are fine with them - a nation's people can never hate their own nation - they hate on the other nations instead. Norway curses their discovery, Iceland thinks there could be a solution.

He accepts an interview, much to the world's surprise. The Icelander isn't a people person, more of an awkward introvert than anything else.

People tune in worldwide to watch the interview, as it is the first showing a nation responding to the questions others refuse to answer. Norway sits in from of his television like the rest of them, pulse racing, a mug of coffee in his hand, nervous because he has no idea what his brother will say.

The interviewer is a rude young woman with a startling obsession with colonialism, her personal agenda on display for the world to see. Norway looked her up beforehand, finding tweets and newspapers articles she wrote claiming that some nations was helpless victims to the tyrannical greater powers, with an almost non-existent awareness of the complexity of history, especially when you add nations to the mix.

Iceland sits with his back straight, dressed in his casual clothes, his puffin judging the woman - silently for once - from it's spot in his shoulder. He fidgets slightly, tapping his foot in a manner that most people would mistake for anticipation. He doesn't smile, but uses the skills both Norway and Denmark taught him to captivate an audience with his eyes and voice.

Iceland starts by answering simple questions about his involvement with his government's policies, how much tax he pays, whether he has a job, whether he goes to school, his role as a nation. Then, displeased by his answers, the interviewer changes the subject.

"You used to be ruled by the Danish crown back in the 14th century. How did Denmark treat you, as a personification?"

"I didn't interact much with Denmark until the nineteenth century, actually. My older brother took care of me until then."

Norway almost drops his mug. Iceland allows a semi-smirk to cross his face, fully aware who's watching, knowing his brother will understand the significance behind those two plain words. Not Norway, not caretaker, not parental figure, not teacher, big brother. Warmth floods from Norway's heart to every inch of his body, the happiness so strong the light drizzle that has covered his country today retreats suddenly and is replaced by bright sunlight that will mystify meteorologists for years to come.

"By brother you mean Norway, right?"

"Yeah, that's right. Norway taught me to read, to write, all the necessary things at the time."

"And how did you feel when he was taken away?"

"Hurt, more than anything. I wasn't particularly close to anyone except Norway, so I was upset that he left and didn't even bother to visit. But we've made up since then. It's not healthy to hold grudges."

"I see. And are you able to stay in contact with Norway nowadays?"

"We meet up regularly, just like human siblings. That's all we are, really, people. Sure, we're practically immortal, we're more involved with how our country is run than many, but we're still people. We make mistakes, like humans do. We love, like humans do. We learn, like humans do."

Norway watches the rest of the interview with pride, where Iceland singlehandedly relays the message to the rest of the world that nations are just people, like anyone else, that they shouldn't be blamed for everything the public wants to blame them for. He delves into the humanity of nations, talks about his insecurities, tells his audience about funny or embarrassing events that could happen to anyone, even says a few words about his sexuality. He may be awkward, his sentences cutting off early at times, occasionally losing track of what he's saying, other times trailing off, too embarrassed to finish his trail of thought, but this only serves to further prove his point.

Once the interview is over, the interviewer trying to concealed her unimpressed face, Iceland's inbox is flooded with messages from both fellow nations and humans from all other the world, congratulating him on his speech, expressing their support.

Following the events, nations are bothered even less by the press and random civilians, so Norway lets himself wander the streets of Oslo, Trondheim, Bergen, freely once more, without fear of being called out by an angry human.

"You called me big brother," he mentions to Iceland when they next meet.

The coastal breeze blows the wind off his face, the sea air wafts through the sleepy coastal town they're walking through. His brother rolls his eyes, cheeks flushed by the bitter cold.

"It's the truth, isn't it?"


End file.
